The Silences That Fall Between
by Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro
Summary: A space for one-shots, Kuchiki-focussed. Some written for Ichiruki week 2012, including the first, "Squeak," which won Best of the Week. All the things that go unspoken in relationships, friendships and families. In order of appearance: Ichigo, Rukia, Renji, Byakuya, Hisana and more.
1. Squeak

In the darkness, Ichigo feels her disappear.

Rukia has become adept at this, reining in her spiritual pressure, shutting it down so that he can no longer sense her. Of course, he has some idea of where she is, in the pitch dark. If she's playing by the rules, and with Rukia you never can tell, then she's on the far side of the room, waiting. That's her starting position. It's a very elaborate game of Grandmother's Footsteps.

Now, he too closes down his _reiatsu _so that she'll not be able to sense him. For the two of them, it's like fighting blind. It makes sense though. There'll be times when both of them will have to face opponents whose spiritual pressures are unreadable, and it's a very easy thing to get lazy and forget how important the other senses are too: touch, hearing. That's what this training tests.

The aim is to be the first to land a blow. Doesn't matter how; doesn't matter where. The floor is made out of plain wood and _uguisubari, _floorboards that squeak if you so much as touch them. Each has a different note; the cadences tell your opponent where you are. The challenge is in avoiding them while trying to find your partner.

"Get on with it!" Rukia calls from the side of the room: "I'm not meant to be able to sense you, am I?"

"How – how can you? I already sealed my _reiatsu."_

"Seal it more!"

"You're too sensitive!" Dead silence. "I mean spiritually!" He concentrates on reeling in the last of his stray energy. He can barely feel it. How the hell could she sense that? And now he pushes on through the strange silence in his mind to see if he can sense just a whisper of hers. It would be nice to throw the reprimand back. But he can't. There's nothing. Just a glaring absence that makes him wish she would speak again.

"That's better," she says: "You could learn a little more discipline."

"Yessir," he mutters. She hates that. Just a little reminder. You're not my vice-captain. You might have some other guys who are willing to take orders from you, but not me. We're past that.

"Ichigo, get on with it."

"Okay!"

They start. It's the first time Ichigo's tried this. She's the expert, but how hard can it be? He just has to listen, wait for her to make a sound. Just wait.

Her _bokken _slams into him from the side and he sprawls onto the _uguisubari. _They let out a series of musical squeaks and chirrups, complaining at his sudden, clumsy weight. They sound like colours in the darkness. As does her sigh.

She's behind him. She's crossed the length of the room without making a sound. "How did you know where I was?" he demands: "I haven't even moved!"

"Right, Genius."

"Oh." He picks himself up, the floor continuing to squeak brightly. And, when he's standing back at his starting-point, he runs one hand across his ribs. They feel tender. Did she get stronger? "That was a fluke," he says: "Consider it a dry run."

"Whatever."

She's moved again. Damn it! Completely silent. Back to her starting position: "Go!" she calls.

This time, he doesn't wait for her to come to him. He concentrates instead on avoiding the _uguisubari. _Right up until he misjudges and his left heel comes down on something which makes a sound like malicious birdsong. Great. He's already lost. He doesn't need the reminder delivered in the form of a heavy blow across his shoulder blades. He hits the singing deck on his knees:

"Oi, Rukia! That could have been my head!"

"Only if I'd aimed for it," she says. This time, she lets her feet play out a melody over the floorboards as she approaches him. He's rubbing some feeling back into his upper spine and, suddenly, her hand is in his hair. A chill races down the very part he's been rubbing. It's the briefest touch. She sounds amused as she passes him. "Seems your skull's intact to me."

"That's not the point!"

"Did I hit you too hard?"

"No!" Well, kind of, but he'll go to hell before he'll admit that. It's just….. Well, he's not used to being beaten. And certainly not by Rukia.

"Want to go again?"

"Have we started?" he says, hoping that the sound of his footfalls doesn't give away the fact that he's aching as he walks: "I'm just testing out how this works."

"Good for you. Figured it out yet?"

"Try me!"

"Go!"

This time, there is silence. Just darkness and silence. And no-one within the silences. Extraordinary, how reliant he's become on her spiritual pressure. It's disorientating not to feel her. So few senses remain. It's almost as if he's fallen asleep and is wandering aimlessly in a dream where the colours have gone. Where she is gone. And then, as if in answer to his prayers, she slips up. One of the _uguisubari _squeaks.

He springs towards the spot. He can picture himself pouncing, bokken raised. And then the picture is shattered as something strikes him from the side. Once more, he smashes down onto the chirping, groaning floorboards, which only just cover his own groan of disbelief and pain.

"I win," she says. Simple. Clipped. As she walks back to the starting point. It's going to be humiliating if she has to carry him out of here. He coughs a few times and rechecks his ribcage:

"You really, really hate me today."

She chuckles in the darkness. "You're getting careless though, Rukia. I heard you that time."

"What makes you think I didn't want you to hear?"

"Well" –

"You weren't giving yourself away. I needed to get you into a position where I knew where you were. After that it was easy. I figured you'd give yourself away if you thought you could cathc me." She's smiling. He can hear it in her words. She's really enjoying this. "Hey, Ichigo, your reiatsu is leaking again."

"Cut me some slack. I've got more to seal off than you have!"

He probably shouldn't have said that because she doesn't answer, but there's a couple of chirps from the floorboards at her end of the room. He really, really hopes he hasn't given her a motive to hit him even harder.

"Hey, Ichigo!"

"Yeah?"

"Go!"

They start like last time. That long silence. Then she tempts him again, making the _uguisubari _sing, off to his left. He doesn't bite. This time, he waits it out until he thinks she's close, then he reaches out with the _bokken _and touches one of the boards a little distance from him. It makes a sweet sound.

She doesn't come at once. She's cautious. More cautious than he was. But he's started to listen for her breathing now, knowing that she's capable of moving in otherwise complete silence. She's close.

He swings. _Shunpo! _She uses _shunpo! _It stirs the air around her and that's a disadvantage; it means he can track her. But, of course, she knows where he is now. He steps into _shunpo _too

They've both lost the benefit of silence and it's not long before she starts zigzagging to throw him off. Her footfalls make the boards squeak as she passes. Soon, they're playing a tag, back and forth across the room. Faster and faster. More and more breathless. The whole of the darkness filled with the sounds of their passage.

At some point, one of them will tire. It's become pointless. There's no stealth in this. It's just a question of who can be the first to….. And she's slowed. Stopped. Why did she stop?

He barrels into her so fast that she lets out a sound not so different from the squeal of the floorboards they've been dancing across. And all at once, they've both struck the noisy wood and there's an instant of utter confusion. He lands up….. well, sort of, on her. Not crushing her exactly. She could probably wriggle away, except she's breathing so hard he gets the impression that any extraneous movement might be hard. He's panting too. He's sustained _shunpo _for longer before now, but it's easier over distances, usually in straight lines; not zigzagging in a room that'a barely larger than his father's lounge. She moans and suddenly he's worried. He wanted so badly to best her that he forgot how much stronger he really was:

"Are you alright?"

"It's meant to be testing your awareness. Not whether you can catch me," she complains. She rolls over and, all at once, he realises how close they are. He can feel her breath on his face and her knee digging into one of his already-bruised ribs. Her breathing slows, but remains tense, like she's waiting for something.

"Rukia" –

"Hm?"

"Why – why did you choose this training?"

"Your _reiatsu," _she says, so softly that it's almost a whisper: "You're right. You're so much stronger. It's nice to be better at something. Sometimes." It's the truth, he knows.

Maybe, he thinks, it's time he told her the truth too.

But she gets there before him: "Ichigo" – And her hand is in his hair again, drawing him towards her, so that his weight is no longer on her. No longer pinning her down. He's leaning over, his face inches from his own. And she's released her _reiatsu _again, so that he can feel her, fully and completely. She shifts beneath him: "There's something I need to tell you….."

"Yeah….."

"I still beat you."

In moving, he has released her forearm.

Her _bokken_ is resting soundly against the side of his skull. She taps him gently. Once. Twice. A few more times.

Just til it gets annoying.

"Ow. Rukia. Ow. Ouch. Stoppit." She's grinning. He can't see it, but he senses it through her _reiatsu._ It feels like the lightest of touches going up and down his spine.

"You wanna go again?" she asks, still smiling. She can't see, but he rolls his eyes as he pushes back from her and stands up, the floorboards squeaking as much as his limbs are creaking. But she doesn't need to know that:

"I'm not going to be beaten by a girl!"

Part of him thinks he probably will be though. Every time.

/html/page_


	2. Family

The baby started screaming in the same instant that Rukia sprung into the air and brought her blade down through the hollow's skull. She stood, balanced briefly on her toes, on the very tip of the demon's snout before it shattered into a thousand glittering points of blue light. Rukia let herself drop slowly to the ground, finding friction in the damp night air. And when she and Renji were alone again on the edge of the abandoned industrial estate, she turned towards the sound.

"Someone should shut that thing up," he muttered. Rukia frowned.

He followed her to where knotweed had grown over piles of disused wooden crates. She crouched down over the source of the noise.

"Why would someone leave it here?"

"I guess they didn't want it."

She threw a glance at him, like acid, and leaned down to pick the baby up. As she straightened, holding it against her chest, it started crying harder still and he grimaced:

"Rukia, what are you doing?"

"We should at least take it to somewhere where it will be found."

"It's a human baby."

"I know what it is."

"Well" – he began, but she had started walking away, and he realised there would be no arguing with her.

After they had gone some way the sound began to grate at him again. They were on a main road, leading up towards a busier part of town. Rukia had hidden the baby in her robes, so that the humans, passing in their automobiles wouldn't see it. It was possible for them to see the baby, but not the _shinigami _who carried it, so it was easier this way. He could see its puckered red face between her _juban _and kimono. It was crying and balling its fists, striking her ineffectively. "It really hates you," he commented.

"It's just used to being carried by a human."

"No. Give it here. I bet I can make it stop crying."

She checked there was no-one nearby before passing the child into his hands. As soon as he held it, the screaming peaked at a new frequency and she laughed. He kept the thing at arm's length, as if it might explode at any moment.

"See," she said smugly, but not before Renji caught the momentary doubt in her eyes. He was suddenly glad the kid hadn't stopped crying.

"No, you're right. It was definitely better with you. Where are we going?" he asked, passing it back into her arms.

"I think we should leave it at the hospital."

"Right." He gritted his teeth against the piercing sound. "Well, could we flashstep, at the very least?"

"Renji! Humans don't like flashstepping!"

"It wouldn't hurt though."

"Why don't you meet me back at the _senkaimon? _This'll only take a few minutes."

He looked down at her and she was looking back, a challenge in her eyes. She probably didn't even know that he could see it. He was stupid, he thought, but not that stupid:

"It's not going to hurt for me to tag along, is it?" he said. She gave a small smile and he thought he'd passed the test. He sighed.

The streetlamps overhead guttered, each in turn, as they passed. Thankfully, the child seemed to be quieting as they approached the hospital. Its bright strip lights and crowds of humans made it unusual territory for two _shinigami._

They entered and passed through a busy waiting room, humans with their families, sitting or standing in their various states of anticipation. There was an unnatural tension in this place. Forced conversations. Barely hidden concern. Someone, he thought, would take care of an unwanted baby, but, even so, it was a sad place to leave it, and he wondered if Rukia knew that. When the lights flickered, responding to their presence, some humans glanced up. He felt their eyes looking through him as he followed behind his oldest friend. She kept walking as if she knew where she was going, but he felt her slight hesitations as she glanced at signs for a variety of wards and surgeries.

Eventually, they reached a quiet space. He stood and gazed at rows and rows of cots on the other side of a glass screen. There were other babies there, sleeping. One was crying, but the sound was muffled by layers of glass and the room itself was in darkness.

They stood very still for a time in the brightly lit corrdior, staring at the sight. This was not a place for death-gods, Renji thought.

Rukia lay the now silent child on a nearby trolley. It stared up with round blue eyes: healthy and strong; it would no doubt find its way to a family somehow. She remained staring down at it until Renji felt a slither of discomfort. He was intruding somehow. He didn't want to see this.

"Do you think it can see me?" she asked suddenly.

He didn't like it when she spoke that way, her voice so soft and wistful that he didn't recognise it. He wanted to hear the steel in it. He wanted to believe that there was only the the woman he knew, who was bold and strong and mocked him mercilessly whenever she could. This one, with the quiet voice and the sad eyes, frightened him because she was a stranger. He didn't want to discover that Rukia had concealed her so skillfully and for so long.

On the other hand, he wished that he might have got to know her.

"I think it can," he lied. She turned to him with a small smile because she knew that he was lying, and she knew why, and she was going to believe him anyway.

Then she walked back to him and kept on walking down the corridor. He fell into step, as the lights flickered again. Neither of them looked back.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"I have to report back. You're stationed out here for a little while longer?"

"Two weeks. Until Ichigo's back from his break. So how has my brother been?"

"He retains all the wit and charm of a sophisticated brick. Why do you ask?"

She grinned:

"Well, it is my duty," she said: "He is family, after all."

"Yeah, I guess," said Renji.


	3. Dance

"Why _dance?" _Ichigo asked Rukia.

"Huh?"

They'd been sat on the couch for a time. Late at night, after Ichigo's father had retired to bed. Sometimes, it was easier to stay awake with the television on and its lights picking out pathways through discarded plates and packets of crisps. They were waiting for the hollow detector to tell them a demon was near, but maybe it wouldn't tonight. Maybe tonight would just be ordinary. In a world where ordinary was so completely extraordinary.

And it was good when she relaxed, he thought. Sprawled on the sofa. It was so rare to see her that way. There were couples whirling to a waltz in an old-fashioned black and white movie on the TV and her hand was tapping out the rhythm. She'd no idea she was doing it. Given another minute, he thought, she might have fallen asleep with her chin on her chest and maybe he should have let her. But he'd asked the question now:

"Your sword release – why _dance?"_

"I dunno."

"Can you dance?"

"I guess."

He grimaced at the wariness in her eyes. _Why do you want to know? _Damn it, how could so much have passed between them and still, sometimes, he could ask the simplest question and she'd pull back like he wanted something of her that she couldn't give.

"That wasn't a criticism, you know," he said, returning his attention to the television as if he was watching it. He wasn't. He rarely was when she was there.

"I don't think you choose. It's more like the sword chooses for you. _Dance._ Maybe Shirayuki likes the idea."

"Kind of delicate, isn't it? For a sword," he snorted.

She didn't answer. Or, her answer was a repressive sort of silence.

_Oh great, now we're both pretending to watch the TV, _he thought. And, with a growing sense of horror, he realised that he was going to plough on anyway: "I mean, when you're murdering someone, dancing is hardly the first thing that springs to mind. It's like a sword saying 'I don't want to kill anyone. I'd rather do something pretty'" – Her expression definitely looked like she'd prefer the former, which made him inclined to backtrack or, at least, look for a way out: "Uh, what I mean is" -

"Yes?"

"It is kind of a pretty sword. With the ribbons and that."

She stared at him for a long time. She stared at him in such a way that the hairs on the back of his neck rose up and he was left in no doubt that he was sharing the couch with someone who had been dead for a hundred years, who had walked between this world and the next and who had watched a thousand souls pass across that border; she'd walked alongside many of them.

"Did you have a point?" she asked delicately.

_Don't say it. Don't say it. She will actually kill you._

"It just made me think – I wasn't sure it suited you. Dancing, ribbons; it's all very" –

"Effective, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh no, I didn't mean that. I meant" –

"Ichigo. I'm tired." She waited until her words registered and then said gently: "I'm going to take a nap if you can be trusted to stay awake for a while on your own."

"Course I can."

"That's good."

She left him then and went upstairs.

Okay, so she hadn't actually sprung up and stabbed him, but it still felt like a slap to his face. How, he wondered, had they gone from a quiet evening where he'd felt happy, comfortable, close to her even, to feeling like he'd just pissed her off royally? They hadn't even argued. But that meant nothing. He always knew where he stood when they argued. It was the times they didn't argue that were the most dangerous. It was the times when they both trod far too carefully.

The couples on the television were still whirling in time to bright, sweet music. Now she was gone, he had nothing else to do but watch as the lead dancer drew his partner in, pulling her close. The waltz was almost too intimate for a few seconds, and then the woman would step back. It looked like a retreat. But, of course, it was all perfectly timed to the beat of the music. She would be back.

They'd probably go on like that all night.

It did kind of make sense, he thought as his eyes grew heavy. Except for the ribbons.


	4. Greed

Byakuya watches as Rukia says good-bye. She's done this many times before. She and the human boy will have a chance, many chances he hopes, to meet again, but nothing can close the distance between them. It is something more than the imposing reach of the _senkaimon, _the treacherous path back through the precipice world. Such things as that can be surmounted. But the distance remains.

Ichigo lives. For both their sakes, that cannot change. But still, while he lives, the distance remains.

She is strong. Byakuya's little sister. Stronger than Byakuya ever was or will be, although he and she measure strength in different ways. The force behind the blade that falls; a body trained for battle: they mean something, but they would not let him stand where she is standing. If their positions were reversed; if the one leaving meant that much to him, then he would not let the gates close. He would step between them. He would hold them with his bare hands. Even if they crushed him.

But he is greedy; he is always wanting more.

Somehow it pains him that Rukia will not do those things. She will wave. She will smile, eyes bright.

"See you," she says.

She is not greedy.

He has lost so many: his wife, his family. His world, which was, which is, born of privilege and power, taught him that there are ways and means to acquire the things he wants. Yet he has found no way yet of keeping them. Rukia had nothing, came from nothing. Wants nothing.

He thinks back, trying to recall if she has ever, in all their time together, asked him for anything. Probably not. When she loses something, she is not angry. It is as if she believes that the time she has, brief as it may be, is more than she deserves.

He, in turn, wishes that he were not so greedy. He wants. He requires. He yearns for more time.

He knew, from the moment he set eyes on the boy, that something had changed in her. He knew because he can remember what it felt like to fall in love. He can see it in the way her actions have a purpose now. In the way she smiles as if she is hiding something. Sometimes, he thinks she doesn't know, and that is most puzzling of all. Could you fall and not know it? With Hisana, there was no realisation, no revelation. He wanted her. He took her. Inevitable, like a tide that bears you forward. He cannot imagine uncertainty.

There are different ways to love, he is learning. Rukia talks often of the human world without any hint of self-awareness. But Byakuya has travelled there often enough to know that this world she talks of is Ichigo's. His town. His family. For now, it is enough for her to know that they are happy, that they live. She speaks as a _shinigami. _She tells stories of the strangeness of the human world, how she discovered things that fascinated her, frightened her. Things that made her laugh and made her think. And Byakuya nods and listens, glad that she can speak so freely in his presence.

She does not see that these are the things that changed her, that she returned altered by the human world. And what now delights, entices and excites her, may one day draw her back. She will no longer feel content to watch the boy grow and change and thrive. She will want to posess those times. His memories. She will want to be a part of them. And if she cannot be, then she will begin to waste: a life half-lived here and half-lived in the shades of what might have been. She will want him. If she ever learns to want.

Then what of Byakuya? Will he try to keep her here, in this world? He wants to hold on. But the others left and he was powerless to stop them. He cannot watch her regrets; he cannot watch her lose; he cannot watch her as if he were watching himself in a mirror. So, he thinks, as he witnesses her say farewell with such ease, that he will let her go. It will be enough to know that, somewhere, she lives. Really lives. And, for once in his life, he will not be greedy.


	5. Waiting but not for You

**Author note: Spoilers from about chapter 500. Sad stuff. This is how I deal with character death. I... er, write.**

**This is from Hisana's point of view, slightly in response to the many comments I saw saying 'at least he's with his wife now.'**

Byakuya-_sama_, they said I was waiting for you.

But I am not waiting. I was never waiting.

I was watching. Some things never change. I was watching you when we first met, trying to understand: who is this man? Who is he who demands my trust: that which is most precious to me, above possessions, hopes and memories. Yet, in time, I would come to give it freely.

You returned it. That is how I knew there were things in the world that I had not understood. Most of all, you gave me the space to live again. Not the existence of one who stalks every day along a knife's edge survival. Not a child of the street or a woman stained by shadow; rather, someone. A name. You gave me a name. A home. We talked about a family.

I cannot be held responsible for leaving. Partly perhaps I was. At the end, I was tired. The kind of tiredness I see in you now. It comes from holding on so long, even after the light has gone, but knowing nothing else but how to fight. We are warriors. I see that now. In life, I never would have called myself such: a weak-willed woman who yearned for guidance; but time has offered its insights and now I see how quickly I learned to defend myself when pressed onto the streets of a foreign world. How quickly I learned to kill or be killed. Back then, I fought for my life. I fought you, didn't I? When first you found me. Those times that you asked me with a word, a glance, a touch, and I responded before the question: _No, I cannot stay here. I am not part of your world. _Learning not to fight. That was harder. Learning that I fit by your side, that your hand closed neatly over mine.

Well, I am here now, still watching you. My fingers lace between your own. Perhaps you can feel them. It is quiet here and the battle has moved on There is time for us.

I was the sacrifice. Me, all along. I thought it was the sister I had left behind, that I had given her life to save my own, the cruellest kind of sacrifice I could make. But I was wrong in the end. It was always me.

She would live; I would die and you, you would be the bridge between us.

I am happy when I see her now. She is, as I said she would be, so much stronger than me. She will go on. These things make me think that we are not so terrible, you and I. My past. My sister. My remorse. Time has dulled my regrets. But one remains: that perhaps I never made it plain to you that I was not waiting and I did not expect you to come to me so soon.

Those days you spent gazing at my picture as if you thought it would answer the questions left unspoken. The answers were never there. Not in the silences. Not in the time between words. Do you see now why I wanted her to be in your life? She had those answers. You had only to give her the first thing I ever gave to you: trust. Lend it her. She will give it back.

But of course, you know that, don't you? Even now, she is on your mind and I am not.

In truth, I am glad if your fingers do not feel mine, and if your mind remains upon the living. I waited so long, but not for you; for this. To know that I am dead to you. To know that you will carry on, that you will live, that you will love again. That you can love again.

So do not say _I was afraid. _

You are thinking of her even now, as this world grows dim and the contours of another, not yet formed, raise themselves across your eyes. In the end, you learnt what I could not teach. That there are reasons to live, even reasons to die, but they are not in your past.

I am not ashamed to wait at your side now; I am not ashamed to say I was your wife. In the end, we are only what we leave behind.


	6. Changing

**WARNING: A little bit lemony! Please don't read this if you don't like that kind of thing!**

For now, Ichigo felt alive. The scent of water in the air assailed his senses at every turn. Though he had seen no hint of a stream or waterway save for the hot springs themselves, with every step that took him further into the demon's palace, he could taste the scent of mountain streams, sweet and fresh as morning.

He followed Rukia's reiatsu down corridors of dark, drenched wood, and was relieved when a door slid silently aside at his touch. The air inside was warm and dry.

Unbeknownst to him, he'd instinctively reined in his_ reiatsu, _all but obscuring it. Why? He'd not intended to approach her unnoticed, but it was simple survival in a place like this, which was alive with energies and presences much stronger than his own. He had come a long way, he thought. There had been a time when he'd have blundered headlong into the unknown with no thought for restraining his spirit signature.

As it was, he was a little too late not to startle her. And a little too late to take back the breath that caught in his throat when he realised that she had not expected him or any other visitor.

Her back to the door, she sat in front of a roaring fire. Her clothes were piled around her; her body was unclothed, and it was this that made Ichigo stop dead and realise he had overstepped the mark. _Judged this very poorly, didn't you, Kurosaki. _But in the time between this realisation and his choked breath, he saw the scar on her back.

It was bright; it was clean, as if an artist had inked the linefrom the curve of her shoulder down to her hip. He knew she had been injured; he just had not known….. And if he tried to imagine what had caused such a scar, even after a half a day bathed in the healing waters, then his mouth dried up and he felt dizzy with nausea.

He didn't move.

She didn't yell; she didn't spring up, or even snatch her clothes in a hurry. A small movement on her part suggested she had lifted one of the garments to cover her front. It was the scar, perhaps more than any other part of her that made her vulnerable, and she knew that he had already seen it.

There were many things, he thought, that it might be wise to do in this moment. He could apologise; it would be a start. And not just for bursting in on her. He could say that he should have been there sooner, that none of this should have happened, that she should not have been hurt. She'd laugh at him for that, or the old Rukia would have. Laugh and state the truth: that he had done the best he could.

There were other things that came to mind. Shit, if this was just a girl, any girl, then she'd want reassurance. He'd seen enough movies to know how these things panned out. Girls were meant to give a damn about how they looked. The hero would put his arms around her and tell her that she was still beautiful. The marks on her body were a part of her.

Still beautiful.

Moreso than before.

He stepped forward into a painting of deep, warm colours, in which she was silent before the fire. And, all at once, the shock of his miscalculated intrusion, the embarrassment; it all fell away. Even his heartbeat seemed to slow as he crossed to her and lowered himself to the floor at her side. She glanced at him, a little curiously.

"Ichigo."

She was holding the _shihakusho _up across her chest; it covered nothing but her front, so, for the first time he was seeing the line of her body, from her shoulder to her waist, to the curve of her hip.

She was watching him….. watching her.

Funny. Maybe he'd sit here and pretend he hadn't noticed she was naked. That was the kind of dumbass thing he'd do.

Her eyes were on his face, soft and black, as if their light had already fallen into the fire, and wherever he could see her skin it was honey and grey, mottled by the flames. _Say something._

_Beautiful…..?_

She wouldn't care; she didn't care if she was ugly or scarred, or pretty, or enchanting. Or entirely intoxicating.

She sighed. Her gaze dropped away as if she were disappointed, and suddenly he saw his bright painting breaking apart like a sheet of glass. Without thinking, he said the first thing that came into his head:

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your back." He regretted it at once. He hadn't been meant to see. No-one had been meant to see. In mentioning it, he was breaking some unspoken rule, and he could see the sudden memory of pain in her eyes, bright like rainfall:

"It's hard to tell. It's fully healed. In time, it might fade. Perhaps it's just that I remember….."

"I'm sorry."

"What for, _baka?" _she said so softly.

She had turned and, probably without knowing it, was letting him see the scar again. He couldn't help himself. He stared, seeing, in his mind's eye, the brutality of the blow that had cleaved her body, juxtaposed against the soft tones of her skin in the firelight, and it struck him suddenly that the hero in the movies who wrapped his arms around the girl, and told her she was beautiful, didn't always do it for her.

Suddenly he didn't mind if she screamed at him or hit him or told him he must leave. He reached out and touched the back of her neck, the point at which the scar began, where the skin was hard. Her back straightened. Just the tiniest movement. She kept her eyes on the fire as he traced one hand down her back.

He wasn't telling her that she was beautiful. She didn't need to know that. He was telling her that he was not afraid. This had been her choice. This was the consequence. She bore now the mark of a decision she had made nearly a hundred years ago, to join the ranks of the _Gotei. _He accepted that. He would change nothing.

His finger moved down the raised line to where it crossed her spine and he hesitated, his breathing thick as he imagined her pain.

In her stillness she gave him the permission he needed.

He left behind the line of the scar and moved down her spine. As he did so, she turned towards him, forcing him to press his whole hand against her back, so that now they were sitting in a semi-embrace, with just the _shihakusho _raised between them like a shield. He pressed the small of her back and she responded by kneeling up. Her lips found his with an urgency that surprised him.

They paused, arched over the kiss. Perhaps a little too self-aware.

He hadn't yet the courage to draw her towards him and he pulled back, seeing the mixture of confusion and longing in her eyes, then the full extent of her body, coloured amber in the firelight as she leant back, taking her weight against her palms as if to distance herself from this sudden strangeness.

_This is just a moment, just a single moment, and nothing will change. It's a dream. That's all, _he thought, as he leaned towards her.

He kissed her again. More certain this time. Lips straying from hers to her collar bone, and down to her breasts.

He had wanted her. Sometimes he had wanted to protect her; sometimes just to be with her. But this was something selfish. He wanted her with the same violence he roused to force himself to battle. He pushed her back into the pile of clothes and kissed her body until it arched. When she kissed him back, the heat reached deep into his own belly and he wondered if he was strong enough for this.

_Why be afraid? _But he had always been so: just a little, and in her passion she was fierce and certain where he was clumsy.

When the aching grew too hard to bear, he untangled his hands from her hair and loosened the ties on his _hakama_. His fumbling elicited a soft, deep chuckle from the woman who now lay half-curled up on the cast-off uniform.

Her eyes were glazed, her whole being focussed on the heat from the fire and the sweat that dried too quickly on her skin. It had tasted like sea salt. Sweet. And all too human. He stared, shrugging off the _shihakusho _and leaning over so that her body was enclosed by his own.

He had wanted her.

His lips found hers. Skin against skin. Clumsy at first. She was at once too delicate and too strong and she teased him. When she touched him, he felt himself falling into her, their bodies starting to move together so that, even while he was atop her, it was she who found and set the rhythm: soft at first, but unyielding. Her mouth found his and, once more, her kisses were urgent.

It was, he realised, as if she knew this was all they had. She was beautiful and sensual and as real as he was; yet there was a sadness in the way she wanted him.

What he needed from her was a promise that this could last, that she would not leave or suffer or die, but give herself fully and entirely to him. While all she needed was to lose herself and forget all that the last battle had done to her.

"Rukia." He was inside her now. Concentrating on his breathing, he reined back the sensation that threatened to overwhelm him. Her bodyhad fallen back. Her eyes were unfocussed. The way her breath hitched reached him above the crackle of the fire. "Look at me."

He kissed her forehead, her temple, searching for something, anything that would tell him she was alive. Fully present. He forced himself deeper inside her and she gave a moan and dug the fingers of both hands into the back of his neck. "Please. Just look at me."

"Ichigo."

Those eyes were wide and open, suddenly focussed and, all at once, full of tears. She was….. afraid? Of what? Of losing him? Of dying?

Perhaps of living.

Either way, his words changed something. He pulled her towards him, her body was trembling, her breaths becoming coarser, sharper. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her. The touch of her breath against his collar bone. Her hips against his. Her body becoming softer, with each motion, until he felt every muscle in her tighten in a convulsion that sent an agony of heat through his own . He gritted his teeth, tightening his grasp on her. Then came inside her and her whole body shivered before becoming soft and heavy in his arms, scalding wherever her skin touched his.

Her eyelashes flickered against his chest, leaving beads of moisture on his skin.

"Are you crying? Rukia?"

"It isn't you, _baka," _she said.

They were lying on their sides now, facing one another. The fire was dying. The last of it caught in her eyes. "We nearly lost everything. This war….. It's different. It feels like everything has changed."

He felt it too. All of this, tonight; it was a symptom of it. The world had moved on.

"Don't be sad," he said helplessly, aware, as he spoke, that the words were tawdry and crass. He'd never seen her cry; but then, he'd never really seen her until tonight. Her smile was frail:

"When have I ever done what you've asked of me, Ichigo?"

"I thought things had changed."

"Some things stay the same."

They stayed, wrapped in one another's bodies as the flames died. Things had to change, he thought. Some had to die and those who survived were the strong ones. She and he. It was the same with friendships. Tested, purified by hardship: what remained was something more powerful, more honest.

He kissed her forehead in the dark and was rewarded by soft laughter from the edge of sleep. But he waited until her breathing was deep and even before he told her that he loved her. In her sleep, she didn't answer, but that was alright. There were some changes it would take him a while to get used to.


	7. Smile

"Smile!" Ichigo says.

"What? Wait, what's that?"

Rukia eyes him warily from beneath her shock of dark hair. Quiet night. Sometimes when hollow are thin on the ground, she visits, just to hang out, the same way any friend might visit. Except she has a tendency to dispense with a knock at the door and polite conversation, and just come straight through the wall. That never really stops being creepy.

"It's a camera. What do you think? And quit the morose expression."

"That's not a morose expression. That's just the way I look….. Yeah, I've seen them before, in Soul Society."

"You have cameras in the afterlife?"

"They're kind of new."

"This one isn't. It's a Polaroid. That means the picture will come out instantly."

"Okay."

"Smile then" – she does – "Are you in pain?"

"What?"

"Try a natural smile."

"There's nothing natural about you shoving that thing in my face."

"Don't whack it. You'll break it."

She laughs. He takes a picture.

"Ichigo!"

"What? You were smiling, weren't you?"

They wait. The camera makes a chugging sound as it prints out the picture, then he takes it and waves it back and forth: "Don't look at me like I'm crazy. This is how you make the picture come out."

"Come out of what?"

"It's how you make it show up….. Er….."

"What?"

"Sometimes I think you're kidding, then realise you're not."

"Are you done?"

"It should be coming now." They both look. The image is almost entirely black, but, gradually, shapes start appearing. Suddenly, and without warning, Ichigo snatches it away from her.

"Hey!"

"I guess it didn't work."

"I could see something, Idiot. Let me look."

"Forget it. Let's take pictures another day when you're….."

"When I'm what?"

"Well, you're on duty right now, so you might want to put on different clothes or do your hair or….. Ow! Was that really necessary, Rukia?"

"What different clothes? I'm not dressing up for you!"

"That's not what I was….. Stop it!"

"I didn't touch you!"

"You were gonna hit me."

"Maybe."

She smiles a little. After a moment, he ventures back into her proximity and she sighs, glancing at the window. Nearly time to go. "Why d'you want a picture of me anyway? It's not like you're not gonna see me again."

"It's just a way of keeping a memory….. Er, like of one time. Even if we see each other all the time."

There's a long silence in which his bedside lamp seems too bright and it strikes him that she seems to be a part of the shadows more than the light. "Anyway, you don't smile enough."

"Well, that's because it's prohibited in the Kuchiki household."

"It…..?"

"Ichigo."

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

Yeah…. Ow! God damn it, Rukia!"

"It was a joke, and you didn't laugh."

"That doesn't mean you have to…..! That's gonna leave a bruise, you know."

"I reckon you've had worse."

"Yeah, but people ask questions….. What's with that look?"

"And what do you tell them?"

"That there's a dead woman who visits me some nights just because she wants to abuse me? I make stuff up, don't I? Other _human beings _would find this odd."

"I don't have to come here, you know. You could just have your photo."

"At least it wouldn't kick me."

She chuckles and stands up from the end of his bed:

"I'll be back tomorrow. If it's not too busy."

"Sure. Have fun….. murdering stuff."

"I will."

Then she's gone and the room feels ordinary again.

Ichigo lies on his front with the polaroid image in both hands. It's come out pretty well. It's a picture of his room: the end of his bed, the shelf of comic books behind, the mat, the door, the games consoles stowed in boxes.

He sighs.

She'll be back tomorrow night.

He probably won't take photos again though.


	8. Sparring

He had fallen silent. Rukia gazed down the length of her bokken, sensing Ichigo's reiatsu moving behind her as he shifted from one stance to the next. The swordplay had come naturally to him since the beginning, but his style was sloppy; at times, wild. Some energy was wasted. She was….. well, the opposite really. She'd struggled with the techniques since her first day in the academy, but what she had learned, she'd learned well. She was ruthless, precise. She was…..

Almost caught off guard.

He must have shunpoed, but she reacted just as quickly, whirling so that his bokken found only empty space where her body had been.

She caught his expression. Almost anxious. Idiot – to worry about striking her when that was the whole point of the exercise. She followed his bokken with her own, pushing it back towards his body. _Didn't expect that, did you? Think I'm going to go easy on you just 'cause you're too scared to use your real strength?_

Using her weight against him as a springboard, she launched herself forward. One sandal on his shoulder; turning in midair, she brought the wooden shalft down towards his head. His eyes widened with genuine alarm. And then his own sword came up to meet hers. Still he closed his eyes as the weapons collided, half expecting hers to plough on into his skull.

She sprang back.

The summer grass licked at her heels.

She wiped her forehead on her sleeve, breathing hard as she watched him regain his composure. _Yeah, two things to think about there, Ichigo: don't underestimate me. And don't close your eyes. What the hell was that?_ But she didn't need to voice either. She could see by the sheepish smile and the chuckle that he knew exactly what he'd done wrong. Her expression was scornful for just a moment longer before it softened to a smile, and she sighed.

He shunpo-ed again.

Damn, he relied on that too much. But, this time, he had her.

His bokken slammed into her stomach. She was thrown aside, unable to restrain a gasp of pain.

_Okay, my fault that time._

Lying on her side, gasping for breath, he approached her from behind. Her hand tightened on the bokken. If she were his enemy, it would be his duty to finish her; she should expect nothing less from him, but, somehow, as she swung her own bokken round (it was a straightforward movement even the ground) she wasn't surprised when it took his feet out from under him. He'd been coming to see if she was alright.

_Don't you get it? It doesn't matter if I'm okay? I'm your opponent; not your friend right now!_ But it was enough that he went crashing to the ground with a yelp that matched her own grunt of disappointment.

She rose fluidly and padded across the grass to him. That stupid grin again. He was squinting up at her. She must appear a silhouette against the white summer sky. While she was certain he couldn't see her face, she let down her guard; a moment's doubt, considering their future, considering everything that awaited him: if he couldn't even take this seriously…..

She laid the bokken back against her shoulder and, with her other hand caught his collar, lifting him. He gave another yelp of surprise. She smiled again. A cold smile. Mockery. He was used to that. He chuckled, finding his feet. _A reminder, Ichigo: if I was human, I couldn't do that._

If I was human…..

If we were…..

She turned back to him with greater determination and he sobered at once, catching her mood, his brows knitting as he moved into the first form. They started to trade blows, back and forth, the sounds of the bokken striking one another, forming a background rhythm to the hot afternoon.

There were things she had no right to wish for, and paths that were already chosen. _But….._ she reminded herself, as she pushed him backwards, the rigours of her training winning over his strength now that he was fighting without his zanpakuto….. _But this did not come naturally to me._


	9. She Shines

She burns more brightly when she's with him. The way they look at each other….. No, it's not even that, Renji realises; it's the way she _keeps _looking at him even after he's turned away. It's the way she watches him, like every second counts or like there's something she's afraid to miss.

Or like she's looking for him to lead her.

Well, _shit. _Renji came to the real world, looking for her on behalf of Sixth. Of course, he'd known the accusations were false; the warrant for her arrest wouldn't come to anything. Rukia was smart. She wouldn't get herself involved in something like this. _Would she?_

_Would she, Renji?_ He can hear his captain's voice in that question.

Kuchiki Byakuya is worried; not that he would admit it. It's just that, well, maybe after all these years, Renji knows him too well, or perhaps he's just become able to catch the warning signs; his captain's syllables just a little more clipped; that gaze a little sharper. _And I'm the one who's gonna have to tell him I found her, but she's with a human boy._

_With?_ No, not _with_. Poor choice of words.

He steps off of the roof, his feet finding purchase on the air as he moves over the city, now and again resting on a roof, a railing, following the progress of the boy, and the girl who is not a girl.

_The human is caring for her._

Oh sure, as if Byakuya's going to buy that! One thing they both know is that Rukia doesn't need caring for. There have been moments. Renji's seen her hurt; he's seen her sick. What he hasn't ever seen her do is ask for help.

They're walking side by side. Now and again, the boy prods her playfully and she responds with a sharp look, a yelp or a gentle slap. He's teasing her. He's actually teasing her. And the instant he turns away to look at the traffic, or a crowd or the road running past them, then she's looking at him again, with such a light in her eyes.

_The human's done something to her; he's changed her somehow._

That might work. If he blames the human boy, then Rukia might be off the hook with the criminal charges. The boy will likely be executed, but then again, he has taken her powers. He's no longer an innocent human bystander. Yeah, Renji decides, he'll tell Byakuya it's the human.

_He made her do it._

No, Byakuya will ask how.

_He tricked her._

Into what? Into giving him her powers. Maybe. But she's not returned to report him to the _Gotei_ and her behaviour right now suggests she's not holding any kind of grudge.

_Into trusting him._

Because Rukia doesn't trust easily. It takes time. It took him years. Trying to catch hold of her was like reaching for a rose: all thorns if you held too tight. He'd learnt to hold her lightly; so lightly that there were times she probably had no idea he still carried her with him.

_She trusts him._

As Renji watches, Rukia points at something, clutches at the boy's wrist and drags him forward, like a kid who's spotted candy. The boy laughs and goes with her. Just something mundane in a shop window. He feels a sliver of guilt at watching these two. Damnit, he's meant to be a soldier, tracking down criminals, not somebody staring into another person's life.

Except, he reminds himself, this is not her life. Somehow, that makes it worse. He'd like to think this is an act on her part: her elation, her intoxication with this world. But he can tell that it's not.

_She seems happy, _he could say.

_Happy? _Byakuya would ask, and that would require more explanation. _Happy. In a way she hasn't been for years. Haven't you noticed, Taichou?_

_Happy, like she's shining._

And suddenly Renji knows that he can't blame the human boy. Can't make him pay the price. Because he is the reason she is shining.

She'll be okay, he tells himself, however this turns out. He'll go back now and report what he's seen to Byakuya, and it might be held against her, but as long as that boy is living he fears, she'll carry on. The boy is the sun to her moon and if she can't shine without him then Renji sure as hell isn't going to be the one to take him away from her.

With one last glance, he steps away into the night's sky. There will be regrets, he thinks, but not tonight.


End file.
